Candid Club

I always go back to this one.

It’s around 8PM at my grandma’s house. Me and my cousins are in the kitchen, throwing together our signature dish – instant noodles with egg and Eden cheese. Someone’s making Milo, someone else is mixing in too much sugar, and someone’s already yelling that Wansapanataym _{^{(It’s this fantasy series we watched religiously, every week a new magical story, usually with a lesson tucked inside)}} is starting.

We scramble to the living room, bowls in hand, claiming our usual spots on the couch. Whoever’s closest to the fan wins. Commercial breaks are sacred – just enough time to pee or grab water if you run. You had to be quick. You had to time it.

It wasn’t a big deal then. But now? It’s the kind of memory I hold onto when adulthood starts pressing in. When there are bills to pay and deadlines to meet and you haven’t sat down properly in days. That version of me – barefoot, full of Milo, watching a show I believed in like it was real life – she reminds me that joy used to be easy. That soft moments existed between all the noise.

So what’s yours?

Let yourself drift back to a time that felt safe. Simple. Yours.

Use these to guide you:

• Where were you, and what time was it?
• Who was with you? What were you doing together?
• What little routine or ritual did you always look forward to?
• What sounds, smells, or tastes come back to you first?
• What do you miss about how you felt back then?
• What made you feel happy or held in that moment?
• What do you want to carry forward from that version of you?

Write it down. You don’t have to make sense of it, just remember how it felt.

Not every memory has to mean something big. Sometimes it’s just noodles and Milo and a show that made you believe in magic. Sometimes it’s just proof that you’ve always known how to find joy.

So when adulthood feels like it’s catching up, go back.

Sit with her for a while.

Let her remind you how soft it can be.

Now – begin yours.